


Sing Me Awake

by j_a_pankratz



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Fluff, Good Parent Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Pirate Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:27:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27806068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_a_pankratz/pseuds/j_a_pankratz
Summary: On the run from Nilfgaard, Ciri and Geralt take to the sea in an attempt to evade their pursuers.Estranged from his greatest muse, nursing a broken heart and ousted from his position at the university, Jaskier reluctantly returns to the family business.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	Sing Me Awake

**Author's Note:**

> I’m very proud of this but it is my first fic I’ve published so do be gentle.  
> If you think I’ve missed any tags please let me know. 
> 
> Originally inspired by this tumblr post https://toffeecape.tumblr.com/post/624921716069695488/that-is-very-moving-but-guys-guys-kerack-is-a

Geralt watches Ciri fondly across the dying embers of their campfire as she sets up her bedroll.

The boost their short stay in Brokilon had given them had long worn off, but they were nearly there now. By this time tomorrow they would be in the city of Kerack, where they should be able find a ship willing to take them north.

The generosity of the dryads had put enough of a gap between them and their pursuers that their tracks would be lost in the hustle and bustle of the busy port city and hopefully by the time that Nilfgaard is able to ascertain which ship they’re on they should be well on their way to the safe territory of Kovir.

“I’ll need a new name.” Ciri’s voice breaks him from his reverie. 

“What?”

“Well, if I’m supposed to be a boy I can’t go by Ciri, can I?”

The farmer’s wife he’d found her with had gifted her a few sets of her sons’ hand me downs and Geralt had inexpertly chopped her hair short in the hopes of disguising her somewhat.  
She now looks more convincingly like a witcher’s apprentice than a crown princess.

“No, I suppose you can’t. What would you like to be called?”

He watches her slump back against her bedroll. She lies there quietly for a moment, just watching the stars and thinking

“What about Ciaran?”  
“Hmm, too close to Ciri. You’re meant to be in disguise”

“Galahad?” Ciri sits back up to gauge his reaction.

“You’re meant to be an orphaned peasant not a knight.”

“Celandine?”

“Celandine?”

“Like the bard, Jaskier. That means buttercup y’know.”

“No”

“Ugh. Lancelot?”

“No.”

With a huff she slumps dramatically back down.

“Algernon?”

“Prospero?”

“Geralt Junior? Or Geraltino? No wait, Ceralt!”

“No.”

“Ugh, fine! What would you call me then?” She rolls over to watch him, tangling her blanket around herself as she does.

Geralt thinks it over for a moment.

“Hmm.. Roach.”

“Oh, you’re an ass!” She shoots up to glower at him.

“It’s a perfectly good name.”

“It’s a fish!”

“It’s a very good fish.”

Ciri rolls her eyes with another dramatic huff and is quiet for a moment as she readjusts her blanket.

“But no really Geralt, if you could pick any name for yourself what would it be? Any name at all?”

“I’ve never thought about it.”

“Geralt are you _blushing_?”

“Eric.”

“That’s not the real answer! Oh, Geralt tell me? Please, please, please, _please_?”

This time it’s Geralt’s turn to sigh dramatically, though he finds he doesn’t mind sharing his childhood naivety with Ciri nearly as much as he thought he would.

“Fine. When we first left on the path we were allowed to pick our own names. I wanted to be Geralt Roger Eric du Haute-Bellegarde but Vesemir wouldn’t let me.”

Ciri breaks down into giggles, barely able to breathe through the laughter and Geralt feels almost giddy himself at the sight of her so carefree.

“Now come on, it isn’t that funny.”

“Oh but is! And to think you made fun of Galahad, you hypocrite.”

Geralt gives her a few moments to catch her breath.

“Have you calmed down now?”

“Just about.”

“What about Leo?”

“Leo?”

“Fitting for the little lion cub, don’t you think?”

“I’m not little! But yes, I quite like that. I suppose I shall be Leo.”

* * *

The next day they set off at first light, despite Ciri’s grumbles, and make it to Kerack around midday. They indulge in the heartiest lunch they’ve had all week, seafood stew and fresh bread from a rundown little tavern near the gatehouse. After lunch they make their way down to the port and the harbourmasters office.

The harbourmaster is a busy man and they wait some time, among sea-worn sailors and impatient merchants, before they are finally ushered in to see him. The office is small but light, one wall made up almost entirely of floor to ceiling windows that offer an excellent view of the port. Under the window sits a long table, covered in various charts and navigational instruments. The harbour master himself sits on the opposite side of the room, behind a desk piled high with ledgers and scrolls.

“Ah so it really is a Witcher. I didn’t believe Evar when he told me. What could you need from me, Master Witcher?”

“Greetings Harbourmaster. My apprentice and I are looking for passage north, to Lan Exeter or Pont Vanis. I was hoping you might know if there any ships in harbour that would be willing and able to take us?”

“No, I don’t think you’ll have much luck, Master Witcher”

“I see. What of Skellige? We’d be able..”

“No.” He finally looks up from his paperwork to cast a stern and assessing gave over the pair.

“It’s not your destination that the problem, Master Witcher.”

“Ah, I see.” Geralt placed a firm hand on Ciri’s shoulder. He could tell even without looking that she was bristling and an outburst would only draw unwanted attention.

“Come on then, Leo. Thank you for your time, Harbourmaster.”

* * *

They made it just around the corner, away from the worst of the hustle and bustle before Ciri whirled on him.

“You can’t just let people treat you like dirt!” 

Geralt hasn’t had much time to think about Jaskier’s absence from his life lately but Ciri’s outrage is so familiar it makes his chest ache.

“There was nothing I could have done to change his mind.”

“You could have at least tried to stand up for yourself!”

“If I had lashed out, if I had let him make me angry, he would have just seen it as proof he was right.”

“It’s not fair! What are we meant to do?”

The wind seems to leave her sails and she flings herself at Geralt, clinging to him and attempting to borrow under his cloak.

He rests a hand gently on her shoulder and tries to offer some comfort.

“It’ll be alright, I promise. We’ll figure it out.”

“Excuse me, Sir.”

Geralt had been so preoccupied with calming Ciri he’d failed to notice Evar, the harbour master’s runner boy, a lanky tow-headed thing, slipping round the corner after them.

“I’m sorry, it’s just I heard you talking inside and I.. there’s a pirate ship in the bay just outside of town. They might be willing to take you and the quartermaster is supposed to be staying in town tonight.”

The boys speaks in a nervous rush that takes Geralt a second to process.

“How do you know this?”

“Everybody’s talking about it. Nobody wants to sail with the Sword of Montecalvo so close by.”

“Everybody but the city guard?”

“They know but it’s owned by the Pankratz.”

When Geralts shows no signs of recognition the boy continues.

“They’re Keracki nobility and friends of King Belohun. Nobody in Kerack will touch them.”

Geralt thinks this over for a moment, tightening his grip around Ciri where she’s tucked herself under his arm. The boy’s nervous but Geralt can find no sign that he’s lying.

“Who’s this quartermaster and where’s he staying?”

* * *

Evar leads them across to the west bank of the Adelette, past the opulent homes of merchants and bankers, to the Natura Rerum, one of the city’s finest inns.

Evar explains on the way that the man they are going to see is known as Viscount Julian, a member of the Pankratz family and nephew of the Ship’s Captain.

Geralt heart drops at the sight of a guard at the inn’s entrance and he fully expects to be turned away, when Evar explains to the stocky, angry looking man that they are here to speak to the Viscount but he allows them in with such ease that it leaves Geralt on edge.

He is is left even more uneasy by the innkeeper’s cordial greeting, although neither he nor Evar show any of the nerves Geralt has come to expect from men involved in an ambush.

“Ah, good evening, Sir! You must be here to see Lord Pankratz. Is he expecting you?”

“I don’t think so.”

“In that case, allow me just a moment to let him know you’re here. Am I right in assuming you’re the famous Geralt of Rivia?”

Geralt only nodded in confirmation and watched as the man bustle off.

Ciri seemed to feel his unease, crowding close to him as they waited for the innkeeper to return.

They wait only a few short minutes, Geralt growing more nervous with each passing second, before the innkeeper returns to announce that the Viscount would indeed be able to see them.

Geralt briefly considered trying to convince Ciri to wait downstairs with the protection of the busy afternoon crowd to dissuade any potential attackers but decides against it. He’d rather be there to protect her should anything go wrong.

They follow the innkeeper behind the counter and up several flights of stairs to the inn’s top floor.

There is only one door on the small landing. The inn keep knocks twice before opening the door and announcing Geralt and Ciri.

“Your guests, my lord. Will you need anything else?”

“Not at the moment, Thank you, Dorill.”

The voice is so familiar that it roots Geralt to the spot. He lets the innkeeper pass, tries to gather his thoughts, before taking a hesitant step towards the door. There’s no way that it can be him and yet..

“Jaskier?”

“Gods, Geralt? I didn’t really believe it would be you.”


End file.
